Ashara

It had been a difficult decision to make, leaving her nephew as young as he was in the care of others, but here the lady of Starfall was, watching on from the darkened alcove as her sister and child played, their laughter joining in with the other children that splashed about the pool, rippling waves reflecting light upon youthful faces. She smiled, then, a rare and true one that brought a light to her hues, hidden as they were at beholding such reckless joy.

And then for the life of her, Ashara could not understand why feelings of nostalgia crept upon her, not when presented with a scene offering so many happier memories to be cherished than the ones nagging at minds corner. Reluctantly, she returned, mind's eye picturing Harrenhall all those years ago.

It was but a simple dance that had spawned so much of her hearts ache in a tourney that was meant to honour a daughter. To display House Whent's wealth. Ten days of extravagance, five days of jousting, and an entire year of heightening tension that culminated in a war that bringing about more misery than anyone expected.

Children she loved like her own slaughtered alongside a woman she counted a sister. And at the end of it, the life of a brother she held closer to her heart than all else before.

She recalled with perfect clarity how her once beloved Ned had come before her still mired in his own grief, Dawn in hands, even now as she hovered in the shadows with haunting eyes, imagining more Stark features than there were to her son, who's true black hair and clung to neck and layered forehead haphazardly, wet from cool waters.

She remembered the look in Ned's eyes, grey and weary when was revealed that the babe she bore; equal parts relief and shame. She knew she would have leapt from the Palestone tower, dashed her body upon the rocks below to end her sorrow in a moment of weakness for Arthur's loss were it not for the cries that had erupted inside his crib and broke her from grief stricken purpose.

And she hated him for that pain, but not so much as she hated the man truly responsible for all. A grimace grew on a face too lovely for such an expression to hold. The prince they had all been waiting to take the throne, to bring an end to the madness. But Rhaegar Targaryen was no better, only more skilled at hiding his own, and she damned him along with the rest of Westeros for that.

Bitter memories fading at long last with her curse, her vision returned to the sight of children upon pool's edge; red faced and flush from equal parts exuberance and the cast sun, snacking upon blood oranges as they babbled.

Alaric was the loudest, she estimated, which could have been discerned by animation alone had she no prior experience with the hellion. It amused her to no end thinking on how people spoke of his wildness due in large part the wolfsblood that his father's side was known for.

Or how much they took to the tales spread after. What story flowed from minstrel's mouth spoke of a tragic love of a wolf that chased after a star. Strange, how one simple bard could accomplish so much despite being given so little coin. Annoying the Tully trout was just a bonus.

The more intelligent wondered why the Lady of Starfall was allowed to keep her violet eyed boy whilst the other was taken for a time, others why she had not simply been allowed to retain custody of both. Some answered that it was because Ned could not stand to gaze so closely upon a face that resembled the woman he could not have, or that of a legendary knight slain in vain.

Drawn from musing by pair of tiny hands tugging upon the skirts of her dress, Ashara looked down to meet Alaric's worried gaze. Her brow hiked in question before swiftly noting how one of his arms pointed away from form. Following it, she found a guard, spear in hand, awaiting her pleasure. In her drifting she missed the calling of her own name.

No wonder then why her rambunctious child's voice had become so silent, the cessation of noise more evident now than it was before as she realized the other children looking to her as well. All was still save the sounds of ruffling leaves, a creaking of wooden limbs and the whispers of passing zephyr.

She could not keep delaying, denying Doran his request in spite of knowing it was out of her hands.

Eyes slipping shut whilst her shoulders slumped dejectedly, Ashara released sigh and knelt. Damn them all. She brushed aside the sable locks matting the boy's forehead before pressing tender kiss "Back to your friend's darling, I won't be just a minute with your uncle."

When he nodded, solemn if only a moment, she was strongly reminded of Ned. It stunned her still to see traits of the quiet wolf in him. In the next he was off, feet slapping against marble floor before thunderous clap sounded as he cannoned into pool, wetting friends in the process.

She stood there a scant second longer, in some ways having felt that she spoke farewell. Swallowing past the lump in her throat, Ashara rose to face the guard, and with a stern nod, followed.

In truth it was more than a minute.

"I am sorry Ashara, but we cannot afford to-"

"Spare me your apologies Doran." She snapped, furious not only at the gout stricken man but at the King and his court, Jon Arryn most of all. "You and I both know he wants my son only for the prestige our name brings, not for his well-being or a chance to right a wrong. What they desire is another Sword of the Morning to restore some semblance of honour and glory to the poor excuse the Kingsguard has become."

"Be that as it may, what the King wants, we shall for the moment, provide. We cannot allow for further tension to be sown between Dorne and the Iron Throne, not now that they have cemented themselves with Greyjoy's defeat. The wounds of the last war have yet to mend and can all too easily be reopened..."

"So we are to simply give away one of her sons to placate a man that condones the murder of children? Of Elia?" Oberyn was almost as scathing in response as her if in tone only.

"If it means that no more of our people bleed, yes, Oberyn. You need not like it, but you will abide my decision now as you did last."

A glance brought knowledge of how the second Princes contorting visage matched Ashara's own foul mood as the reminder of who held the power was made.

Of course she knew why he was incensed; Alaric was to be his afore letter came bearing royal seal addressed to the Prince. This was just another slight in his ink black eyes akin to venom amongst the ever growing list of travesties Dorne suffered.

But truthfully, she could not care less about his discontent nor the vitriol between brothers Martell as she returned attention once more as the only voice that held reasonable tone continued.

"Despite what Daeron's tales claim, the truth remains that when Aerys called, we sent forth a great deal of our army for Lewyn to command. Now they lie dead aside our beloved Uncle, their numbers yet to be fully replenished."

Striding forward, Ashara upraised her palms and made one final plea, throat thick with emotion "Both my brothers lay dead Doran, my good-sister too from the birthing bed not two years past. You ask me to abandon my son to that wretched city, separated from all the family that remains his all for a meaningless knight hood. He will be alone, undefended."

"It is there you are wrong, Ashara" Doran softly assured. "I have written Jon Arryn, and so it will be that Alaric shall have Barristan Selmy to call his knight master. Naught will happen to the boy under his guidance."

With a smile fraught with sadness, he reached out for Ashara's hands, a request she could gladly grant this time. Fear still pulled at her heart seeking to nestle at her core, but at least this was small comfort.

"I would not see the boy of a woman as dear to my sister as you were without proper protection, lest I would not have acquiesced."